


our love was pure (and nothing else brought me closer to god)

by honeysuckers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale & Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Fluff, I'd say slow burn but this isn't very long, M/M, i'd say drabble but it's a bit too long, so who even knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysuckers/pseuds/honeysuckers
Summary: Sometimes, it felt like all too much. Even an angel, divinity itself, could be frightened by the overwhelming emotion of love, for it feels all too similar to holiness.They've loved each other for six thousand years.





	our love was pure (and nothing else brought me closer to god)

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the entire show in one sitting, fifteen minutes after binge reading last 200 pages of the book. I had a lot of emotions about the whole ordeal. I'm sure there's some confusion and mixing between the TV and book plots in this, but I couldn't tell you where.  
> Title is from bare: a pop opera

It had always been love between them, ever since the garden. Although, that love had changed quite a bit in the six thousand years following. Their love now was different from what it was when they first met, not bigger or better than the simple love of providing shelter from the first rain, just different. Somewhere along the way, about a thousand years in, the love that Aziraphale felt towards Crowley floated around him like a warm breeze in the afternoon. It was a comfort, a constant: Crowley would come, or Aziraphale would go to him. They’d share stories and drinks, they’d understand each other like no other beings on Earth could, and then they’d part ways for a few decades. They had done that since the beginning, since the first wine, and they did it still. They got along marvelously, for an angel and a demon. 

They shouldn’t have worked quite so well together, shouldn’t have found each other’s company so entertaining. Centuries passed, and their warm, light love persisted until it wove its way into Aziraphale’s every move. He brought blessings and divinity to the Earth, but as he guided good people to sainthood, he would wonder if Crowley had tried to tempt them, if they’d been strong enough to resist. Crowley thought the same, and told Aziraphale one day over an early lunch. Love mingled in their laughter, in the glances they shared when they knew they had separate business to attend to and neither wanted to leave. They were the best of friends. 

Then, that love changed again. Love saw Crowley trust Aziraphale, asking for the assurance of holy water. For Aziraphale, it grew warmer and heavier until it was wool blanket pulled over his eyes. It forced his decisions, it drove his actions. This love, heavy and firey, saw that Crowley was safe and that he would come, begrudgingly, back to Aziraphale alive no matter what. This love was scared, and it’s flames lashed out in fear of losing the one thing it understood. Through late nights they would drink, and they would shout, and demand to be left alone for another decade. Still, when one of them marched away from the fight, the other would follow, just far enough behind to watch over without being seen. The fights grew less frequent, and eventually, the love grew softer.

Sometimes, it felt like all too much. Even an angel, divinity itself, could be frightened by the overwhelming emotion of love, for it feels all too similar to holiness. 

Their love was bright and blinding by the time the end of the world came. It bubbled just beneath Aziraphale’s skin, asked to be seen. Aziraphale saw it in himself, he saw it in Crowley. They didn’t mention it, not even when it dripped out and left little messes of each space they shared. Dusty books were left on Crowley’s sleek, modern shelves, or a small plant grew even in the low light of the bookshop, terrified to do anything other than thrive. Love sat in plain sight, but neither was ready to break the dam. To see it was one thing, but to touch was another. 

And then, when the world hadn’t ended, when things seemed to be back in place, Aziraphale dipped his fingers into the dazzling love that spilled out between them. It was on the bus, the one that went mysteriously off route to take them home together. Crowley suggested they make breakfast tomorrow morning, seeing as there would be a tomorrow, and of course, Azriaphale agreed. Crowley smiled, threw an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and the angel sunk into his companion’s side the rest of the way back to London. It felt exhilaratingly new, but was exactly like coming home.

It’s a funny little story, this one. Once the world almost-but-not-quite ended, there wasn’t anything significant they wanted to do.

When they dined at the Ritz a place was, as expected, vacated just in time for them to ask for a table for two. Aziraphale studied the menu as if he hadn’t memorized it nearly a century ago while Crowley sipped on red wine. They sat closer together than the last time they dined together, Aziraphale occasionally placing his hand over Crowley’s to draw his attention to whatever dish he was considering ordering, Crowley’s knees pressing up against Aziraphale’s.

“You know, we ought to do something,” Aziraphale started. “Take a holiday for the next few years. Pick up a hobby.”

Crowley hummed. “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at collecting art.”

“Oh don’t be silly. The only painting you’ve ever liked enough to buy is that rough from Da Vinci.” Crowley scoffed at this, but it was undeniably true and Aziraphale said it with such fondness. “And besides, most of the art world was made up by your lot.”

“It is one hell of an industry.” That earned a smile. “What about you, angel? What would you do?”

“I’d like to travel a bit more, see the world without having to perform miracles all the time,” Aziraphale mused.

“Where do you want to go?”

The angel gave a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know. Seems an awful lot of trouble to plan it all out.”

Everything had seemed so monumental in the days leading up to the end of the world. Even the eleven years prior when they thought things were going according to plan, Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t supposed to be friends. Before, their time together was spent as privately as possible, although neither Heaven nor Hell seemed to care enough to check. But that was before the end of the world didn’t happen.

Crowley reached out a hand and Aziraphale took it, their fingers laced together with a silent confession. What happened now didn’t need to be planned, they didn’t need to follow anyone else’s rules. As long as they were together, the love surrounding them so sure and constant, it didn’t matter what tomorrow brings. Today, they would dine at the Ritz, hand in hand, and not worry about what was yet to come. 


End file.
